By W.B. Dunne
The News Pauper jumped into his time machine for this bit, inspired by the rebellious America portrayed in the recent expose of gun show sales ignoring background check laws.
I grew up in the military; I was trained from an early age as to the seriousness of guns and bullets. The sound of gunfire was so familiar to me in my youth, I could identify caliber and direction. The weapons I handled ranged from a small nickel-plated .38 six-shot revolver, .22 rifles, 12 and 410 gauge shotguns (breach and pump), and an M-16fully automatic. By the time I was ten my father had taught me enough that I became the gun roadie for the band of hunters he slew pheasant and geese with.
I went to the firing range a million times when I was a kid. My fathers sniper and marksmanship trophies filled the many homes we traveled through as I grew up. Before I ever even fired a gun I had been taught about stance and recoil, and mostly how goddamned dangerous they were in the wrong hands. I was also left with the impression that the most important thing of all was to realize the wrong hands might be your own.